


Dangerous Things

by Snellby



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Class Differences, M/M, Slavery, everything is awful for elves always
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 05:26:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5278412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snellby/pseuds/Snellby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“The south is no place for mages, I’m afraid.  If your friend will accept a life of servitude, kept mages are in high fashion right now, with the fall of the circles.  A mage bound to a noble is less likely to cause trouble you see.  I know of a duchess off the top of my head who enjoys exotic things, and I’m sure she will enjoy the company of your friend, so long as he knows how to entertain her.  Nothing untoward, I assure you.  Make a couple lights flash, and heat a cup of tea for her, and she’ll be impressed.  Not nearly as glamorous as the life of a magister, but it’s better than rotting in a templar dungeon for being an apostate.” </i>
</p><p> </p><p>Dorian Pavus escaped his family in Tevinter, only to find himself in the service of an Orlesian noble in Val Chevin.  There, he meets Bo, a dalish mage who was taken from his homeland and brought to Orlais as a curiosity.  Beneath all of Bo's make-up and jewels hides the red, beating heart of a warrior, and the more Dorian learns about him, the more he finds that he is falling in love.  However, Bo has a secret, and the wolves of Fen'Harel are drawing ever closer.    </p><p>Someday, they will find the Inquisition, but for now, they must endure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dangerous Things

**Author's Note:**

> The "Servants in Orlais" AU that no one really wanted is finally here. If you have any questions about it, or would even just like to discuss it, send me a message. It helps with world building!
> 
> ...And then, that's when I realised I was writing a romance novel...

** Chapter 1:  The Serpent Sheds His Skin. **

            The south was cold...and Dorian Pavus had come unprepared.  

He was currently in a hovel somewhere in the slums of Orlais, howling winds blowing through the slats of the walls, chilling him to the bone.  His mana was drained and gone from exhaustion, the fire in the hearth long ago snuffed out; and he felt his resolve crumbling with each pained shiver of his body.  

The heavy metal of his birthright sat in the palm of his hand, the crest of house Pavus staring back at him as he trembled, steeling himself for what he knew he had to do.  He would have to cut away this part of himself; tear it out like a tumor and become something new...become  _ someone _ new.  Going back wasn’t an option.  He had to forget the warm days playing down in the courtyard, and the dusty musty smell of his family’s library.  He had to forget the happy moments that he had shared with his mother and father;  had to instead remember the tang of blood in the air, and the look of desperation on his father’s face….his mad dash to the border with Felix–poor, tired, pale, Felix–by his side.

His days as an Atlus were behind him, and mages were not welcome in the south.  The future was bleak, but things would not have been better back home, he knew it….even though sometimes, he found his hand gripping a quill, penning a letter to his father, begging to return to Tevinter and promising that he would roll over and follow orders and marry the girl and bear it. 

None of those letters had been sent, but he still carried them with him.  

Gathering his few belongings, Dorian shrugged on his now threadbare traveling cloak and left the room, moving through the bar below, and into the streets.  It was early morning when he found himself in the glittering markets of Val Royeaux, all too aware of the whispered voices gossiping about him as he passed.  Their faces were all covered in masks, eyes and expressions hidden from view.  He knew that he stuck out like a sore thumb. He was an outsider.  A pariah. 

Dorian steeled himself once more, heading to the darker part of town, where the stalls were adorned with flowing covers to hide what went on within.  He pulled a slip of paper from his cloak, holding it tightly in his hand, eyes running over the name clumsily written in Felix’s failing hand:

Lord  Auxiliaire was the alias of an Antivan man who helped slaves escape Tevinter.  He’d stationed himself in the capital of Orlais to avoid Tevene retribution, but continued to grow his network from a distance.  How Felix had learned of him, Dorian hadn’t asked, but there had been a knowing sparkle in his old friend’s fading eyes.  Felix had arranged for the Lord to transport Dorian along the Imperial Highway in a simple, unassuming supply wagon.  A letter from the man himself went on to explain where Dorian would be going after he reached the capitol.  

“ _The south is no place for mages, I’m afraid.  If your friend will accept a life of servitude, kept mages are in high fashion right now, with the fall of the circles.  A mage bound to a noble is less likely to cause trouble you see.  I know of a duchess off the top of my head who enjoys exotic things, and I’m sure she will enjoy the company of your friend, so long as he knows how to entertain her.  Nothing untoward, I assure you.  Make a couple lights flash, and heat a cup of tea for her, and she’ll be impressed.  Not nearly as glamorous as the life of a magister, but it’s better than rotting in a templar dungeon for being an apostate.”_

The mere thought sat heavily in Dorian’s gut.  To be reduced to nothing more than a servant; a parlor trick to entertain guests....would it really be better?

Yes, he told himself.  For now, at least.  

He found the stall he was looking for, and slowly pushed the flap aside, finding himself in a warm enclosure filled with the smell of stew and cooked meat.  In one corner, an elven family huddled fearfully, staring up at him with their large eyes.  In the other stood a man in a black cloak, his mask fashioned after a mabari hound.  

“Dorian Pavus?”  The man said, taking a step forward, holding out a gloved hand, not to shake, but to take the letter from him.  Dorian nodded, passing it over.  

“Lord Auxiliaire?”  He asked in return.  

“I am not he, but I am an agent of his, so you may call me by his title.”  The merchant replied with a lazy drawl.  “It is too dangerous, you understand, for him to deal with many of these matters in person.”  

“Of course.”  Dorian replied, cringing as his stomach growled embarrassingly loudly in the small space.  He turned his eyes to the stew bubbling over the hearth with a longing gaze

“Help yourself.”  Lord Auxiliaire said.  “We make sure to keep food warm at all times of the day. Often, the urchins we receive are much worse off than yourself, Ser.” 

He idly motioned toward the elven family in the corner.  

“These poor souls came from Tevinter as well, though they hail from Vyrantium.  They’re waiting for my Dalish contact to arrive, so they can hopefully begin a new life.”

“That’s good.”  Dorian replied, shakily making himself a bowl, trying to ignore the wary, angered stares of the elves.  

“There is the matter of payment, however.”  

Dorian paused, clutching the amulet that hung around his neck.  

“Of course.”  He said, pulling the cord free, holding it out for the Lord to take from him.    Auxiliaire hefted Dorian’s birthright in his palm, likely testing its authenticity, and then slipped it into a pocket of his coat.  

“ A carriage will be here shortly to take you to your new home.  Your mistress is a duchess, the same one described in the letter, Duchess Elisabeth Valaine, an older woman who, for the most part does not take part in the Game.  However, she does like... _ collecting _ oddities, one might say.  You’ll find yourself surrounded by exotic beasts and fanciful plants, and a very eclectic set of servants.  She lives up the coast a bit, in Val Chevin, in a lovely seaside manor that is truly splendid in the summertime.”

“Does she know who I am?”  Dorian asked, setting his stew bowl aside, appetite suddenly gone as the reality of his future set in.  

“No.”  The lord replied.  “You may tell her your name, if she asks, however, she also has the right to change it, as she sees fit.”  

“I see…”  

Dorian settled himself into the opposite corner of the stall from the elven family, lulled into drowsiness by the warmth of the fire, and the small sliver of safety he felt.  Around midday, a gaunt elven woman with twisting vines running over the planes of her face entered the tent, flashing a silver medallion, before rounding up the elves, and leaving with them in tow.  

“Not all of them are even Dalish.”  Auxiliaire murmured from the cushion where he sat, reading a small paper-bound book.  “But my boss does not like serving up elves to Orlesian nobles.  Slavery might be illegal here, but that does not mean that elven servants are free.”  

“ And your boss has no qualms about handing  _ me _ over?”  

The lord chuckled.  

“Mages are more difficult.  If you were not a mage, you wouldn’t need our help in the first place, no?  Excuse us if we show more sympathy for the elves than for a former Atlus who simply refused his father’s orders.  I don’t think you understand what you’re getting into.”

“ I do understand.”  Dorian growled.  “I understand that I may never find happiness here in the south, but it will be better than allowing myself to be... _ altered _ .”  

“Your friend...mentioned that in his letters.”

Dorian nodded.  

“Felix was a better man than I ever deserved…” 

  
  
  


 


End file.
